Christmas Ghost
Earthed here, rougher, much more
than delicate remembered bones
or even her face’s desire
to boulder such impossible loves,
Cassandra, still vanishing
under the weight of natural laws
unable to force things back into place
and all of those eyes still fairground glass,
she disadvantaged, so obviously
that taxi-drivers noticed it
refused her even a no-man’s land…
not here by the estuary
nor where a bird hovers
occludes a birthplace of crippled pines
for clouds stiffened like nacre
suggesting all kinds of mortal dangers
or supernatural relief
but under the tree with smashed glasses
embers of chestnut smoking on
boxing hours still held in abeyance.